


giveaway

by painting



Category: Uncategorized - Fandom
Genre: Common Cold, Gen, Sickfic, Stealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: "Yo," he says into the receiver over Sean's noisy breathing, "what's going on with you, man?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> no need for any familiarity with the characters guys. we're all here for the same reason

It's half past eight and Derek has reached a state of restless impatience; his practiced aptitude for restraint and glamor tends to get stretched and pulled when he and Sean fall into stride, excitement still getting the better of him despite his experience with the trade, and tonight's circumstances tug on some sort of nebulous string inside of him until it snaps.

"Yo," he says into the receiver over Sean's noisy breathing, "what's going on with you, man?"

There's a pause on the other end, not for the first time since their shift began. Sean sighs and breathlessly, frenetically says "What?" like he hadn't even heard the question.

Derek grins cheerfully at the patrons exiting the front doors of the restaurant, wool coats and jewels and heels and all. He's good with faces and remembers that they'd walked here, which makes his job easier because it means he can keep his focus in line with his priorities.

"Have a nice night, ma'am," he says to the middle-aged and supposedly philanthropic redhead in the back of the group when she makes eye contact with him, and then, back into Sean's ear, repeats himself. "You good?"

"Yep," Sean says quickly, flatly, waving him off. "Shit."

"What?"

Sean sniffles. "Jewelry box is empty," he says.

"Might be another one. Check the master bath."

"Yeah."

"That's so fuckin' weird," Derek contemplates breezily as Sean presumably navigates the bedroom. It's too bad the house is a couple miles out from Nino's, because the added time crunch is lining his nerves with an edge that isn't typically there. At least he's able to chat to relax himself. "Why would the jewelry box be empty?"

"Maybe she's wearing everything in it out to dinner," Sean says. It takes Derek a second to parse it because his voice is sounding funny on top of the fuzzy reception lent to them from the city's cell towers.

It's hard for Derek not to laugh, hallelujah, when it finally sinks in. "Yeah, I bet."

Sean sneezes twice in a row, fast and close together like always, but suppressed in a way that diminishes the vocal quality that's usually there. It usually wouldn't mean anything, but he's off his game tonight.

"Better hope the house is empty," Derek remarks in hopes that Sean will take the bait.

Unfortunately, Sean ignores him. "Hey. She's got a full tray of 'em in the top drawer."

"Yeah?"

"Loads. Second drawer too."

"Don't bother sorting. They just ordered more drinks, buddy, we're on a time limit here, okay?"

Through his mind's eye or whatever, Derek can see Sean's rushed, chapped hands pocketing handfuls of metals. It's going to take a minute. He watches the chatter inside, zeroes in on the family whose million-dollar home they're looting through, then scans the whole of the dining area to keep from staring.

"Jesus," Sean says into the phone after he sneezes again, dividing Derek's attention and putting the fork of his attention to use. His voice is hushed, which tells Derek he's self-consciously peeking through one of the windows. "Fuck. I've been sneezing all day."

"Have you?"

"Yeah. Sorry, couple just slipped out."

He indulges another handful of sniffles that sound huge and unsatisfying, maybe like he's proving something or feels like he's allowed to now that he's finally acknowledged it. 

If that's the small talk he wants to make while he's collecting, then Derek doesn't mind entertaining him. He's always been good at building rapport.

"You sick or something?" he asks.

"I've just got a cold," Sean admits. Derek doesn't bother telling him he already knew that and was only asking to get a dialogue started. "It's no big deal, just-- I didn't think about how much of an issue it'd be."

Derek bows his head, smiling. "Aww," he says, mocking and friendly. "Ha! Baby's still learning."

Sean sneezes again, one-two, and then a surprise third sneaks its way through just a couple seconds later. He's been doing a pretty good job of keeping them quiet, since Derek hadn't heard anything in the beginning, but they're seeming to get a little harder for him to control.

"Sounds like the dam has broken, tenderfoot."

"Fuck, sorry."

Sean's tone says he's far more frustrated with himself than he is apologetic. The playful brashness usually present in their back-and-forth is more or less dulled by whatever misery has settled inside his head, a dull glow like a beacon on a foggy day as opposed to the beaming coltishness Derek is used to seeing from him. It's almost kind of cute.

"You're good, man. Salud."

It's hard to tell whether Sean is scoffing or clearing his throat in response to that, but eventually, he says, "Thanks."

"How's the stash looking?"

"I'm in the third bedroom, the office. Absolute fucking sty."

"Skip it."

"Yeah. Nice set of pens on the desk, though, might be worth at least seventy each."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Who spends money on pens?"

"Hopefully the pawn shop on fifth."

"You got time tomorrow or are you gonna be all cozy holed up and eating chicken noodle in bed?"

"Only if you offer to feed it to me."

Tomorrow's Friday and Sean's barely ill. Derek doubts he'll actually take off.

The waiter arrives at the table with the family's beverage tray with a bottle of wine and a tall-ass Norlan glass of dark liquor. Unless the dad's planning to share it with the kids, he definitely shouldn't be driving tonight, especially considering how fast he's downing it. Pretty unsophisticated for a guy who drives a Pagani.

"Maybe a whiskey with honey would do you better," Derek says. "I think this guy's a drunk, you should take a shot before you go. I doubt he'll notice."

"And get a DUI driving his car back from his house loaded with all his stuff?"

"You're planning on getting hammered from one shot, man? I'm saying just to numb the throat a little."

"I've already had half a bottle of DayQuil."

"And you're still sounding that shitty? Jeez."

"I know."

The family digs into a center-set plate of goat cheese marinara and calamari and Derek accidentally catches their teenager's eye when he checks on them. The kid scowls and Derek doesn't bother employing any charm, looking away instead and listening to Sean's muffled coughing through the tinny speaker at the top of his phone.

"Entrees should be coming out in a few minutes," Derek warns. "Where you at?"

"Oh, shit, man, this lady's got a bottle of Percocet from last Spring."

"Yes! Nice, okay," Derek says. "Anything else?"

"No, just aspirin and stuff."

"Any cough drops?"

"Better not, Derek, they'll know it was me."

Derek tilts his head back when he laughs. 

The battering of Sean's footsteps on the stairs is almost loud enough to make him nervous. The sound normally isn't so much of a concern, but Derek recognizes the neighborhood from Sean's description: the houses are nice but they're close together, and Sean's a liability as it is.

"Why's this family need four tablets?" Sean asks hoarsely. "There are only three people living here."

"What, you don't have a guest tablet in that little garage you live in?"

"It's a loft, Derek, thank you. It's an attic  _ above _ a garage. Are you saying your mum keeps a guest tablet at hers?"

"Oh, ouch!" Derek lowers his voice and waves at a busboy scurrying past. He doesn't recognize him-- probably a new hire, seasonal or something-- but trusts that he won't snitch on whatever pieces of the conversation he's heard. Sean sneezes another two times, the sharp gasp in between them so futile that it essentially gets interrupted. "Alright, man?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

He's sniffling a lot more than he had been an hour ago when they'd met up at the beginning of their shift, when he'd shown up with his voice scratchy and his features pink around the edges. Derek had known something was off then, but assumed it might be the cool evening mist of the pacific northwest getting to him, or maybe something equally as benign. 

Now that he's been on the phone with him for thirty minutes, though, Derek realizes that either Sean's getting sicker or he hadn't noticed the details of his symptoms when the night began.

"Make sure you take all four chargers, too," he reminds him.

Sean sniffles several times, loudly, and says, "I'm sick, not an idiot."

"How long did it take you to get there, again?" Derek asks. "Ten minutes?"

Sean coughs briefly and then says, "Fifteen."

"So where we at right now?"

"Just need to look through the foyer."

"What about the--" Derek pauses and lowers his phone when the bald, dolled up aristocrat steps outside to check out. He runs through the basics ("How was your dinner, sir?"; "The twenty-sixteen Lexus, correct?"; "Service is on the house. Have a lovely evening,") and steeples his hands in a thank-you prayer when the man doesn't transform into a fussy tornado at Derek's mistake of not driving the car right up to the long red welcome rug for his noble convenience. Back into his phone, he says, "Hey, man, you there?"

"Yeah." Roughly, Sean clears his throat just once, like he can't decide if he wants to cough or not. "About to head out."

"You check the second bedroom at all?"

"I'm not stealin' from a kid, Derek."

"Whatever, man, the dude's, like, sixteen. And kind of a brat. He won't stop glowering at me."

"Probably because you tried to hit on his mother half an hour ago."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Like you didn't see her, too. I'm sure he's used to it," he says.

When Sean coughs some more, it sounds far away and irritated. 

"We're running out of time," he says, "and I've got plenty. Couple of surprises for ya, I'll leave them in the backseat when I make the transfer. You're parked on the second floor?"

"Third."

"All right."

The zip of a window sliding open says that Sean's finished with the job, leaving fraudulent evidence of a break-in. He shuts the door and locks up, then Derek hears the engine of the father's car starting just moments later, followed by an acutely loud, weary pair of sneezes and then a jag of a scratchy cough.

Derek huffs, smiling. "Bet that felt good."

"You have no idea." Sean coughs for a moment more. "Jesus."

"Try not to breathe your germs all over the nice leather seats," Derek says, his grin persistent. "And turn the heat on, warm up a little."

"I'm fine, mama."

"I'm just saying! Cold's not too good for you right now."

"Aren't you sweet."

"Besides, if you're compromised, then so am I. This ain't a one-man job anymore. So zip up your jacket, rookie."

"I'll see you in twenty," Sean replies, and Derek pockets his phone when the call beeps goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!

When the wolfish band in the corner switches from a somber lullaby to an upbeat jig, Derek moves from the bar over to the square wooden table where his partner sits miserably behind a sweaty brown glass bottle. He's slow to sit up when Derek slides into the seat across from him, leaning forward so they can speak to each other through the lackluster vibrato of the venue's disorderly acoustics. 

Derek watches the string of divey fairy lights flickering behind Sean's head. "How you feelin', man?" he shouts.

"I'm grand," is Sean's slouched, strung-out, peaky-voiced answer. He pushes back. "How're you feelin'?"

"I'm not the one who came out to the Dead Lion with the flu, man."

To prove something, Sean lifts his beer to his mouth and tilts the bottle back. He winces after he swallows.

"Sore throat?" Derek says.

Sean looks into the crowd and smiles. "Fuck off," he says, then he coughs against the side of his wrist. It's heavier and grosser than it had been sounding yesterday, more along the lines of clearing the pipes than scratching an itch. "I've been inside editing all day. Needed a change of atmosphere."

The smoke and humidity of the party crowds the air between them, and the pub is hot from the calories burning off of the dancing, slithery bodies on the dance floor. Sean, who's been sedentary since his arrival nearly an hour ago, has yet to take his jacket off.

He bows his head to continue coughing into the cuff of his sleeve, then clears his throat when he finally comes up for air.

"Not sure this is the right kind of atmosphere for you tonight."

The joint Derek passes over is less than two inches long, but it's better than nothing and some kind of substance is always necessary during a celebration. From his pocket, Sean brings his own lighter to the table and flickers the flame underneath the substance.

"Enjoy my germs," he says to Derek, desperate and breathless as he passes it back with smoke still in his lungs. Derek shrugs and takes a hit himself to display his own fearlessness. 

While a draft cleaves past them, Derek sucks in the herb and watches Sean breathe it out. He sniffs and hunches his shoulders, head angled downward and away from the table, earthy smoke billowing and dissolving into the dimness.

"You push any of the stuff yet?" he asks.

Derek holds the joint back out, still burning, and says, "Four grand." He deflates his chest and toxifies the air himself.

"No shit?"

"Got your cut on me right now, man."

Sean fishes around in his pocket.

"Dude, hang on," Derek insists. "We'll figure it out tomorrow, alright? Don't try to pass cash over a table in the middle of a bar. Put your wallet away."

"Fuck," Sean says, his eyes an open window of humiliated self-awareness. "Jesus. Sorry."

Derek laughs. "You're good, man."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sean presses.

"You got a fever?"

"You're way too interested in my body lately."

"Hey, I'm just trying to cover my own ass here, remember?" Derek says, palms up. "You make a mistake, we both fall to our doom." He raises both eyebrows, ironic, then drinks and the beer tastes stronger, nicer, somehow. "You wanna take another day off or something? Spend more time at home looking at all your pretty pictures?"

"It's just…" Sean sneezes twice, fast and thick and desolate, and as he comes up for air, not allowing room for a response, he says, "It's just a cold. Medicine's probably wearing off; I'll be back on my game t-tomorrow--" His gaze unfocuses as he pauses and then sneezes a third time, heavy and vocal into his elbow. "Sorry. Uh, straggler. I hate that."

Simply, Derek says, "Offer stands," but his eyes are elsewhere, too. "Ha. Your hot girlfriend's coming over."

He can't remember her name for the life of him.

"Ooh, I'm so over night night classes. Hi. Bless you," she says to Sean only, squeezing his shoulder as she sits down next to him and keeping it clasped as she leans in closer. Her nails are long and painted a modest shade of pastel-something, glimmering enticingly in the dark. "Are you still not feeling good, sweetheart?"

Sean just hums, which is more honest of a response than what he's been giving to Derek, who supposes he'd do the same. It's always easier with girls.

"He's been so sick, I feel terrible that you've both been out in the cold," she says. "Have you been taking care of him at work?"

Derek grins. "Yes ma'am," he promises. "Well, actually, you know," he winks, "he hasn't been so receptive."

Sean rolls his eyes. "He acts like someone's mum," he tells her.

"Wouldn't have to if you didn't need me to," Derek asserts.

"Well, maybe I'll have better luck, huh?" Sean's girlfriend says. She brushes her hair back cheerleader-style to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, submerging her palm into the plush, dark coils on the back of Sean's head to hold him steady while she does it. "What do you think?"

"I think you have ways of getting me to do things that Derek here doesn't," Sean answers. His voice cracks terribly on the last word, which makes it nearly intelligible in combination with his accent. He's from somewhere in Ireland or Scotland or something, but Derek doesn't exactly remember the specifics. He hasn't known Sean long enough and has always gotten the two of them confused.

In response to it, Sean's girlfriend coos at him all sympathetic and sweet; those melty nonsense noises that tend to feel intoxicating to a man's ears. "Poor baby," she says, then she lifts herself off the chair so she can twist forward and kiss him on the mouth.

Sean hums into it, but it kind of sounds like a whimper. Poor baby indeed.

Instead of hopping back down, she stands and tells everyone, "I'm going to get a beer."

She does, and Derek doesn't mind watching her go.

"Yo, what's her name again?" he asks innocently.

Sean scoffs, smiling, and looks away.

"You're not serious, man," he says.

"Hey," Derek replies, "you just call each other 'baby' all the time. You leave me out to dry."

"It's Riley," Sean says.

"Riley," Derek repeats.

"Jesus, don't say it like that."

He's easy and Derek laughs just a little. Maybe chuckles is a better word for it. Sean shudders into another sneeze and then its stronger other half, muffled into the top of his forearm sleeve and sounding miserable.

He groans and says, "Christ."

"You poor thing," Derek echoes.

Again, Sean groans, resting his head atop folded arms. He looks weirdly cozy for a wreck sitting poorly and indisposed in a dingy fucking bar. 

"Stop it," he says, reaching a hand out, palm down, and swats at Derek like he's waving him away.

Derek waves back. "Bless you," he concedes, the courtesy a friendly white flag.

Sean hums something else it might be a thank you, but Derek can't really understand. It seems like he went from a five to a zero in under ten minutes. It takes Derek a second to realize that the weed's probably relaxed him enough to let his guard down, and that feels sad, somehow, though he isn't really sure why.

"I just gotta say it one more time," he promises, "but you've gotta go home, man."

"Riley just got here," Sean argues.

Derek shrugs. "I'll keep her company."

"You will not." Sean clears his throat, then he gasps, seemingly by accident, and needs to cough from his chest. Derek sees Riley's pretty nails coming toward them a few feet away, both sets of slim fingers wrapped around dark amber glass bottles. "One beer and then I'll go."

"You're already halfway through one," Derek says.

"I meant for Riley."

"You meant what for Riley?" his girlfriend says sweetly. "Here. I got you some napkins so you can blow your nose."

Sean's mouth twitches upward just at the corners and then he huffs, eyes downcast toward the rickety table, sheepish and embarrassed. "Thanks."

"He's gonna let you take him home when you finish up with that," Derek answers with a wink, nodding toward her beer.

"Lucky me," Riley says. It's strange and unfair how seductive she sounds as she plays a tipsy, mother-henning nursemaid, maybe because there's some power to her position or because she'd sound seductive no matter what she was doing. She moves her chair closer and rubs Sean's back, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment before she sits back up. "This one's for you. Cheers, right?"

Derek takes the bottle she slides his way even though he's not yet done swilling his own. It's pretty warm by now anyway, which makes his side of the table just next to useless.

"Yes indeed," he says. He doesn't look away when she makes eye contact. "Miss, I'm sure you'll have your work cut out for you."

"We'll see about that," she says, smiling crimson lips uncurling as she tips her bottle. "Bottoms up, Derek."


End file.
